


retrograde in violet

by afterreign



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Crushes, F/F, Flashbacks, Fluff, One Shot, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterreign/pseuds/afterreign
Summary: Flower isn’t one to be pulled in by the words of some faceless stranger whose hobby is shipping real people together—and god, is that not a creepy, if not an intrusive habit to have—but she can’t deny it gives her a somewhat entertaining story to tell her roommate.(alternatively: Flower wonders, Yukari sleeps, and the color purple plays a less relevant role in all of this.)
Relationships: flower/Yuzuki Yukari
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	retrograde in violet

**Author's Note:**

> hello, vocaloid fans! i am back at it again with... another rarepair lol. i think i may be cursed in falling in love with ships that nobody writes fics of, so i have to do it myself, huh...
> 
> also, i don't know how to tag this, but flower's mom appears for a short while, and it's implied she was just a rlly shit mom. not physically abusive but definitely emotionally. if you feel uncomfortable with that, feel free to stop reading! 
> 
> also also, when you read this, picture flower in her v4 design aka the short hair instead of her v3 or gynoid look. yukari, of course, looks the same as always.
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoy reading this! ₍ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ ♥

It’s on an autumn afternoon when Flower is told by a classmate that she should date Yukari.

 _You two would be_ so _cute together! You both like purple_ , the classmate reasoned with whatever so-called logic they pulled out of their ass, _and your hair is kinda purple, so you’re, like, practically matching every day! Come on, give it a try?_

Flower would not give it a try. This was coming from the same person who shipped everyone in their music history class based on the utmost superficial features. Kaito and Meiko should date because their names kind of rhymed. Miki and Piko because they both have ahoges that defy the laws of gravity. Len and Rei because they look like light and shadow personified and opposites attract or whatever.

(Although, Len and Rei _do_ end up dating a month into the semester, announcing their relationship status to their friends after a hearty discussion of Okinawan folk music. They mentioned something about how they overcame their differences and whatnot, but that’s—that’s an exception. An anomaly. 

Their classmate is right, like, once? That’s hardly proof that they’re a reliable source of relationship compatibility. Flower doesn’t dare believe it, even when her eyes are drawn to the happy couple’s intertwined fingers.)

She heard about this in passing: the idea that two people absolutely, positively _must_ date because of some dumb trait they have. It’s not like Flower isn’t guilty of this, having thought her friends looked good together over reasons one may consider stupid, but that was in elementary school. _Elementary_ school. And Flower is currently a living, breathing college student who only wishes that nap time was still a thing interwoven in the school day.

So, the mere concept of someone, a near stranger no less, suggesting that Flower and Yukari become the best of girlfriends due to their shared love of a color? It’s baffling and juvenile and of course, _of course_ , dumb as all hell.

It’s the perfect thing to tell Yukari.

Yukari—the aforementioned girl and supposed other half dictated by one of the seven colors of the rainbow—is Flower’s one and only dormmate, a role in which Flower found awful in concept but thoroughly appreciated in practice. She’s also the one who nearly spills her mug of warmed milk all over her mattress once Flower surmises the unfortunate yet entertaining encounter.

(It’s the cup Flower bought her for their second week living together, having found it on a fateful trip to the thrift store. There it was, hidden behind a bunch of other less fitting cups for her roommate, as its handle pressed up against the back of the wooden shelf. Dark eyes had fixated on the faded design: a cartoon rabbit hopping over a crescent moon, all against a pastel purple sky.

When she gifted the mug to her dormmate, Yukari gazed at the cup in awe, turning it over in her hands, before replicating Flower’s thoughts with a soft smile. “It’s perfect.”)

Yukari, broken out of her stupor, looks mildly befuddled. Troubled, almost. “Wow. That’s. That’s so… moronic.”

Flower tries and fails to contain a snicker. She twists her body to face Yukari, the two of them weighing down the latter’s bed. “I know. _But_ , guess who was the only one who had to deal with that today because a certain someone decided she wanted to sleep in…?” 

Her dormmate sips her drink. “You could have woken me up.”

(It was eleven in the morning, a waning fifteen minutes before class started, and Flower was _still_ rifling through her clothes. Damn her for forgetting to do her laundry. She wasn’t exactly thrilled to listen to a classic lecture from Professor Hiyama and his disregard for the bubbly pop music found on most radio stations, but she at least wanted those class participation points. Plus, if someone suggested that he listen to a _Love Live!_ song one more time, Flower was pretty sure she’d bear witness to the first man to ever combust into flames, and that was something she itched to cross off her bucket list.

After a bit of rummaging, she found a dark hoodie tucked away in a pile of undergarments and slipped it over her bra. Who wore shirts these days? The inside of the jacket was soft, warm, and as long as Flower didn’t take it off, she should be in the clear to not scar anyone—

Yet the thought of traumatizing her classmates by prancing around half-naked on campus came to an abrupt halt, as her fingers brushed against a stretched out part of her sweatshirt. Flower’s whole frame stiffened. What in the hell _was_ that? Confused, she squeezed it in her hand, staring at it with judgment in her eyes, until she found another matching, elongated piece attached to her clothes.

Flower took a deep breath.

The realization that this wasn’t her raggedy, old hoodie she had looted off of some drunk homophobe but Yukari’s very cute, very bunny-themed sweatshirt slapped Flower like a cold splash of water. It was just the realization that Flower wasted five minutes flustered over something as simple as wearing the wrong clothes that made her hurdle herself out the door, her lethargic roommate left behind.)

“Oh, I—forgot,” fumbles Flower, biting back her embarrassment. She can practically feel her forehead beading with sweat, and Flower attempts to will away any physical signs of nervousness as she continues. “I… took notes, so don’t worry. You didn’t miss anything big except Mr. Hiyama going crazy. Like usual. You should’ve been there, though. I was so…”

“Dumbstruck,” her roommate finishes. “Shellshocked. Flabbergasted.”

“Yeah, to all of those—”

“Probably stupid looking?”

“Maybe.” Flower grins. Or attempts to, anyway. She never could smile on command. “What, did you eat a dictionary for breakfast or something?”

“I had toast,” Yukari responds, tone clipped, and returns to her drink.

A classic reaction. Flower always appreciates this side of hers. Yukari’s habitual bluntness and dissuasion from nonsense are probably human nature for her, at this point. She takes everything in stride; an upcoming exam Flower can only dread the results of or unnecessary drama stirred up by their classmates are one and the same to her.

But somewhere in the back of Flower’s mind, underneath the thick layers of stoicism, there’s a part of her that wishes Yukari was a _little_ flustered. Flower can’t be alone in thinking that being romantically paired off with an acquaintance is somewhat blush worthy, right? Then again, this is Yukari she’s talking about. Yukari, whose true love is a ready-made bed. Yukari, who can appear more undeterred than an inanimate object at times. Yukari, who, upon first meeting Flower, left her speechless for nearly ten minutes.

(“No.”

The simplicity of this stranger’s response made her pause. Flower hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t even waved at her as a half-assed greeting. Was it already too late to do as much? Flower has half the mind to put the alliterative name of her roommate and this strikingly purple girl together. Yuzuki Yukari. _Violet_ , like the flower or color. 

It was a likely theory Flower found herself oddly satisfied by as if being on a college campus awarded her with more brain cells. Granted, she hadn’t expected to meet the girl she’d be living with over the course of the next few months right here, right now. A short stand-off inside their dorm or an awkward confrontation in the bathroom felt like a more probable introduction.

Yet here was Yuzuki, outside her— _their_ dorm building, dressed down in what looked like sleepwear, as she marched towards Flower, each step thumping against the cement. As soon as she was face to face with her dormmate, Flower’s usual instinct to glare was left forgotten in the wind, instead favoring to take the stranger’s sudden appearance in like a tall glass of wine—her blank stare and her milky white skin and this strange, sweet aroma that made the former want to lean in and _inhale_ —

Yuzuki plucked the cigarette from Flower’s hand.

“I’m asthmatic,” she explained half-heartedly before letting the cigarette drop to the ground. She crushed it under her heel and kicked away at the ashes. “Did you know one cigarette contains over 4,800 chemicals and that 69 of them can cause cancer?”

Flower, in fact, did not know. She slowly shook her head.

The girl hummed. “We can learn a lot from each other, then…

“My name is Yuzuki Yukari,” she introduced. Flower couldn’t tell if she herself was thrilled by the fact she was right or the whirlwind that was her dormmate starting today. “What’s yours?”)

Absentmindedly, Flower wonders if Yukari ever feels the same despite how indifferent she appears. Her imagination runs wild at the hypotheticals, the metaphorical dam that keeps her affections at bay momentarily torn down. Just how will Yukari react when something finally embarrasses her? Will she tug at the rabbit ears of her clothes, dragging down her hoodie to cover up her shy expression? Or does she hide behind her frontal pigtails, lilac locks complementing the rosy shade of her cheeks? After all, purple _does_ look good together with pink…

It’s simply wishful thinking, though. Realistically, Flower knows she isn’t Yukari’s type—if Yukari has one, that is. They never talked about that kind of stuff, even if Flower wants to for her own self-satisfaction. She’s ready enough to endure the prodding questions as is. But as long as the possibility that Yukari does have a type remains, whatever it is, Flower surely isn’t it.

Flower is… difficult. She drinks and smokes (or used to, anyway) and gets dragged into fights she never starts but always has to finish. She’s leagues away from being the most behaved person to be around, putting truth into the phrase “rough around the edges.” Or maybe, Flower is just that. Rough.

And, well. Doesn’t Yukari deserve someone nice?

“What are you thinking so hard about?” said person inquires with a tilt of her head, pigtails swaying with the motion. It’s a welcome interruption to Flower’s self-deprecating train of thought. She doesn’t get the chance to speak, however, as Yukari immediately shoves her mug into Flower’s hands. “Can you finish this? I want to sleep.”

Wordlessly, Flower takes the half-empty cup. Stares at her rippled image reflected in the white liquid. Her thumb rubs circles around the area of the mug where Yukari drank, thoughtful.

Flower drinks.

“Thank… you,” Yukari all but yawns. Flower didn’t even notice her shuffling into the covers prior, but the mattress creaks beneath them in warning, squeaky and unforgiving. It takes a beat or two before a fatigued Yukari is fully submerged in her comforter. Her pigtails are untyed by now, and lilac locks fan across the pillow. Yukari’s face peeks out from behind the washed-out blanket, her gaze of concentrated, unblinking attention.

“Looking at you makes me want to take a nap,” is what tumbles out of Flower’s mouth. It’s a white lie and a dumb excuse to leave Yukari to her devices, yet there’s something in Flower, something cloying and sweet, that demands her to fill the silence whenever Yukari invades her space and vice versa. Has she always been like this, or did her genes suddenly mutate her into becoming a dumbass once her college life started?

Unaware of Flower’s strange compulsion, and thank god for that, Yukari blinks up at her in question. “You don’t look tired.”

“Mentally, I am.”

“Hm.”

“Yeah, _hm._ ”

Flower chugs the rest of the milk down easily and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Go sleep,” she orders, little heat behind her words. Carefully, she brings an unoccupied hand and places it over Yukari’s eyes. Thin eyelashes flutter against her palm. “Then maybe you won’t be so tired all the time.”

Yukari huffs, privy to what seems to be an inside joke that Flower remains out of the know. “Unrealistic. I might sleep forever.”

Flower forces herself not to frown. “Don’t do that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Then, Flower adds, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

A pause. “I don’t know,” Yukari says moments later, her voice unexpectedly quiet. “Why wouldn’t you be, indeed…” 

And Flower—Flower doesn’t know how to take that. She mulls over the tired words, tossing them back and forth in her head, and thinks and thinks and _thinks_. Isn’t the answer obvious? Isn’t the answer sitting on Yukari’s bed, waiting for the girl to slip into yet another peaceful nap? Isn’t the answer covering the starry eyes of her dormmate in spite of the pretty shade they take on—an iridescent purple; like the flowers in bloom, like the sky’s transition from the edge of afternoon to the clear cut evening—all because Flower doesn’t know what other nonsensical bullshit she’ll blurt out while she remains under that devastating stare?

For herself, Yukari, and the universe at large, Flower answers: “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Silence. The question hangs in the air, expiring fast, and for some reason, there’s this unfamiliar pit— _the size of a baseball and the shape of a knife_ , Flower nonsensically thinks and thinks and thinks—that’s lodged into the bottom of her stomach, sitting there. Waiting.

And then.

And then… 

(“And then what?”

Her mom was bristling. Her mom was bristling, and that was never a good sign, really, and here they were, stuck together in their pathetic excuse of an apartment, tied down by _blood is thicker than water_ because blood suffocates and water does too, but the latter is at least transparent.

Her mom’s intentions, on the other hand, weren’t.

A wrinkled sheet of paper—Flower had spent time crumpling and uncrumpling the penned form, indecisive and insecure—was seated in between the two, lying upfront on the dingy dining room table. Flower was sure she shoved the thing into the depths of her backpack, but… here it was. Staring her in the face. The misshapen word “UTokyo” looked pathetic.

“And then what?” her mom echoed. By now, it was getting a little repetitive, her shrill voice urging on an incoming headache. Flower’s hands twitched in dull annoyance. Couldn’t her mom change it up for once? Flower restrained herself from openly counting how many times her mom repeated the same not-question to her. “And then what—” Seriously, again? “—are you going to do?”

Oh. Slightly new question. Flower didn’t know if she should be thrilled by the variety.

“I’ll…” Her voice trailed off. Any clever remarks she prepared beforehand escaped her mind. Not being thrilled, it was. “I’ll go to college like it says on the form. Get a part-time job, maybe.” 

“ _Maybe_ , she says,” her mom mocked, and it came out as a hushed laugh, a remark muttered underneath her breath. It came out as an insignificant comment because, in the grand scheme of things, it was—between the passive-aggressive conversations, the teetering talk of sexuality, the _you have no future because you’re my child and I’ve never had one either_ discussions that were probably too generous to be called as such.

It came out… expected.

In reality, Flower prepared for this. She had to. Her late-night shifts at Lawson weren’t for nothing, her back hunched over the cashier register for hours on end, sifting through bills and coins after selling the usual convenience store commodities. She raised at least enough money for one college semester. One chance, and wasn’t that all Flower needed? To see the world for what it was? To finally move forward?

“Maybe,” Flower decided but not really; nothing was ever definitive, “I’ll go to parties and drink. Drop out of college. Do it all over again.” She reached for the paper and folded it neatly, smoothing out creases that would never thin. Her mom stayed tight-lipped. “Maybe I’ll meet someone.”

At that, her mom scoffed. “Someone--”)

And then, right as Flower is about to remove her hand: “It’s all nonsense, you know.”

Flower stills. She looks down at Yukari but can’t decipher the girl’s expression when her hand is in the way, an obstacle by Flower’s own making. She doesn’t have enough brainpower to try and remember what the purpose of that gesture is, anyway, its function only serving her to be distracted by petal-soft lips and other equally attractive facial features. “What is?” asks Flower, her voice managing to stay even.

“That we should get together,” Yukari supplies in a faux light tone; the drowsiness is more evident in her voice, and it makes Flower want to curl up on the bed and never leave, “because of the color of our hair. Because we like the same color.” What is left unsaid by her: _Wouldn’t you agree?_

“Yeah,” Flower says, an answer to both.

 _But what else?_ she silently pesters. _What else is there?_

Out of the corner of her eye, Yukari’s hand, soft and warm, reaches out, clasping Flower’s own and giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s never mattered to me,” responds Yukari, vague, “because… 

“I,” she finally says, a bated laugh in her throat. “I’d like you even if you weren’t purple.”

And the grip of her hand loosens.

Flower takes a sharp intake of breath, her nose flaring, her eyes widening. Her heart, with a life of its own, thrumming against her ribcage. Self-conscious, she peels back her own hand from Yukari’s eyes, the latter’s palm landing on her own cheek with a muted thud. Yukari doesn’t move. With long eyelashes downcast, a familiar snore cuts through the dorm room air.

Flower’s stomach swoops.

She feels a little bit dizzy. But it’s the good kind. The kind that surges through someone when they blindly barrel through a test with no preparation in the slightest, circling choices at random and later miraculously acing it in ten minutes. Except those tumultuous ten minutes are stretched over into three months of silent pining—from the second Yukari discarded that cigarette to this very moment Flower stays planted on the bed, stilling her hand from cupping her roommate’s cheek.

Anyway, Flower is that. Flower is… giddy. Content.

She looks down at her slumbering roommate but notices light inching its way into their space. The blinds are open—have been for some time now—and the rays of the setting sun seep through, its reach long and wide. The room is quickly soaked in a new shade. Warm light dyes the two girls in its orange hue, as if basking them purposely. Even in another color, Yukari is beautiful.

Flower thinks back to their classmate. At their strange insistence to couple people as they see fit, regardless if they like each other or not. At the superficiality of it all, an expectation soon to be turned on its head.

Flower thinks back to purple and laughs. It’s never mattered to her either. 

(“--that’d want you? Like who?”

For once, it was a fair question. Flower’s longest relationship ended in a grand total of three weeks, a slap on the face as a parting gift. It wasn’t like Flower didn’t expect it, though, judging by the way their texts to each other lessened in the coming days, long-winded messages shortening to one-word responses. Her mom, of course, wasn’t aware of any of her past relationships, and Flower intended to keep it that way.

But maybe the people she’d meet at college were different. She had been stuck in the same town with the same people for all her life, so who knows what, or who, was out there? There was only one way to find out.

Flower shrugged, but there was a smile on her face. “Somebody who can surprise me.”)

**Author's Note:**

> \- fun facts -  
> ❀ i have been working on this story on and off since the end of june. i kept flip flopping between liking it or hating it, but staying up one night with no wi-fi encouraged me to finish it  
> ❀ i have a total of five betas who looked at this! we're trying to encourage each other to write, and since my fic was the first on the chopping block, let's say they had a blast on discord. they are [juli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jubilantscribbler), [fifi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/finitexs/pseuds/finitexs), [meepy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meepy), harlee, and a ~mysterious benefactor~ ... anyway  
> ❀ who is rei, you might ask? he's a fanloid who goes by the name of kagene rei. he is not relevant, but i love him, and i miss the days when there were an influx of lenrei fics.  
> ❀ apparently, flower is canonically a kuudere. when writing this, i was unaware of this fact, but it's interesting to see how my characterization of her follows closely to what is canon  
> ❀ i sorta gave flower and yukari... theme songs? for flower, i associated her with night drive by echae en route. for yukari, i associated her with autumn breeze (london) by jida and rachel lim. i feel like the tones of the songs fit with what i was trying to for in this fic. perhaps... very purplely?  
> ❀ the "violet" in the fic's title was chosen for a reason. to reiterate, the name yukari (ゆかり) means "violet" which is a color or a flower. flower's name is... flower. it shows that the color connects the two together. but of course, like it's implied in the ending, there is much more to their budding relationship than that
> 
> feel free to drop any critiques you have. or, you know, harass me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/AfterReign) if you wanna :0)
> 
> ty for reading, everyone!


End file.
